That Week in 1917
by Eaglesgirl
Summary: As the war rages on, Branson is worked to a point of utter exhaustion. As his body struggles to fight off a particurally nasty cold, Sybil's heart and upbringing fight for dominance. Season 2 AU.
1. Chapter 1

This has been poking at me for the past few days and wouldn't leave me be. This is AU starting right around Season 2, Episode 3 and I haven't seen Season 2 since it aired in the US last January/February, so I apologize for any errors. This story is ode to and inspired by the utter exhaustion I drove my body to with my double major in college which often left my immune system in tatters.

I'll say it right now; I don't own anything.

.:.

It had started, Tom was sure, on that Wednesday morning. The sun was struggling to peek through heavy clouds that would later release a steady and unseasonably cold midsummer rain. Tom had pulled up in front of the local hospital, distracting Lady Sybil from the story she had been telling him about an argument she had overheard her mother and father having about the conversion of Downton to a temporary convalescence home.

Helping her alight from the car in front of the hospital was one of the best and worst parts of Tom's day. As she stepped out, Tom held her hand a little longer and she stepped a little closer than she would in front of Downton. However, their arrival also meant the end of their conversation for the day, as she was often near exhaustion when he picked her up to bring her home.

Tom let his eyes linger on Lady Sybil's retreating back for a beat or two before biting back a sigh and moving to close the door she had just exited and start back to the house. As he was getting into the driver's seat (lethargically and with no enthusiasm, he would admit) Sybil came running back out to the car.

"Branson. Wait a moment."

"Did you forget something, Milady?" Branson asked, glancing back to see if she had left something in the back seat.

"No. Dr. Clarkson was just wondering if you might help us for an hour or two? I'm afraid we're rather shorthanded as it is and three nurses are to be up at the Abbey today to get things settled. You'll help for just a bit, won't you? I can call Papa; he won't mind sparing you for a while."

Tom sat for a moment weighing his options. Sybil's eyes were hopeful and bright. How happy he would make her by doing something so simple as saying yes! Even more, he had no responsibilities this morning; Lord Grantham had a late afternoon meeting in Ripon, but Tom had hours before he needed to be in front of the house.

But Tom was exhausted, something that he worked very hard to hide from Lady Sybil. With the majority of male servants off to the front, those left behind, both male and female, found themselves juggling extra duties. Tom had been primarily assigned to help the outside staff but had duties inside the house as well. It had been wearing on him (and everyone else, he knew), but yesterday had been particularly brutal. The day had started helping to muck out the horses' stalls before the sun had risen. He had then driven Lady Sybil to the hospital then went to the train station to pick up supplies and groceries that came in on one of the early trains. Back at the house, Tom had unloaded and put away all of the packages and after a quick cup of tea, he was sent to help the varied crew of servants to clean and ready some of the extra rooms upstairs for the soon-to-be-arriving officers. The cleaning crew were to have a late lunch, which Tom missed altogether as he needed to pick up Lady Sybil from her early-ending shift. He was set to have some free time in the late afternoon, but as he drove back down to the garage, the engine whined rather unnaturally. Tom nearly missed dinner trying to diagnose and fix the problem and received a rather hard glare from Mr. Carson when he entered the servant's hall disheveled and cursing, twenty minutes late. Mr. Carson then informed Tom that he would be helping with washing the dishes. (Tom was sure that the butler was punishing him for looking unprofessional when he noticed that Mr. Carson was scowling at his misbuttoned livery jacket.) In the end, Tom had stayed and helped an overworked Daisy scrub down the kitchen floor after the pots and pans were put away. Tom had stumbled back to his cottage and had only managed to shed his jacket before passing out on his bed… Only to be awoken by a loud pounding on his front door four hours later. The chickens had escaped. Tom, the groundskeepers, the one remaining stable boy, and the groom spent hours tracking down, cornering, and catching the animals. By the time Tom had gotten back to his cottage, he had realized that he had no time to sleep and had simply washed off the smell of farm animal before he trudged to the garage to bring the car around for Lady Sybil.

Looking at Lady Sybil he had two choices; agree and suffer in silence, or say no and go home and sleep. There was no contest.

"Of course Milady. I would be glad to."

As Lady Sybil's smile grew wide, Tom was sure it would be worth it.

.:.

An hour or two turned into four and a half of restraining struggling patients, cleaning bed pans, and carrying in the wounded and ill. Tom lived for the little smiles Sybil shot him across the room and the soft touches on his arm or shoulder when she passed by him. Still, Tom struggled against a constant need to rest his eyes and the painful emptiness of his stomach and was thankful to escape the smell of rot and blood when he finally left to straighten himself up before he needed to be in front of the house.

The drive to Ripon was better than expected (Lord Grantham was unusually talkative, which kept Tom's mind alert). Tom had hoped to have a moment to sit in front of the fire of the house's servants' hall with a small morsel and a cup of tea while his employer was otherwise occupied, however upon arriving at their destination, Lord Grantham told Tom to stay with the car. He wouldn't be long and it looked like rain; he shouldn't want to get caught in it for too long. Indeed, it started to downpour but ten minutes before Lord Grantham reappeared, sheltered by a footman held umbrella. Tom was soaked in the brief moments it took him to see Lord Grantham into the car. He had not dried out much on the drive back and his heavy livery went from wet to sopping on the trudge from the garage back to his cottage. Tom built a fire in the fireplace when he got in and shed his shoes and clothes in quick succession. He looked longing at his bed as he pulled a dry shirt on. 'No,' he thought, 'If I lay down, I'll miss dinner and I haven't eaten a thing today.'

Instead, Tom picked up the book on his dresser, picked the most uncomfortable chair to sit in, and propped his feet up in front of the fire.

Tom woke the next morning dizzy, cold, and stiff-necked. With a groan he realized that the first glimpses of light heralding dawn were beginning to light the night sky. He needed to get to the stables.

.:.

Tom had seemed a little withdrawl to Sybil when he pulled up in front of the house that morning, but she didn't think much of it until she had asked him a question and he hadn't answered. If there was one thing Sybil knew about Branson, it was that he always listened to what she was saying. His inattention was peculiar. "Branson?" she called again louder. Shaken out of his reverie, Tom glanced back at her for a quick second and Sybil noticed how drawn his face was and the darkness under his tired eyes. "Tom, are you feeling well?" Sybil asked, concerned.

"Fine, Milady. I just didn't sleep well. Nothing to worry over."

Sybil looked unconvinced, but wasn't able to press further when they arrived in front of the hospital. As he helped her out of the car, Sybil stepped closer than usual and placed a hand on his arm. "Rest today," she quietly commanded.

"Of course," he lied. "I'll be back at six o'clock."

.:.

Mrs. Patmore and Daisy both insisted that Tom have a second cup of tea and some extra toast, which he had trouble keeping down in his now traitorous stomach. Anna found him staring blankly into his half-empty cup twenty minutes later. "Branson, are you alright?"

Tom jumped up. "Fine. I'm just fine." He forced out a small smile. "I must have lost track of time; I'll go upstairs now."

Anna made a point of keeping Branson within her sights as they cleaned. He was moving slowly, stiffly, and his fingers constantly found the back of his neck or massaged as his temples. Still, he remained on his feet. Tom was quiet and sedated through lunch (but he often was, unless he was provoked or one of his political passions were brought up). Anna wasn't sure if she should be worried for the chauffeur or not and determined to look out for him at dinner. After lunch, Tom would return to help outside and so would be completely out of Anna's reach.

.:.

Lady Mary had insisted that she wanted to go down to the hospital to visit with the patients and to keep Sybil company on the short drive home. For once, Branson was thankful. For the half-hour that Lady Mary was inside, Tom was able to shut his eyes to the light that was aggravating his pounding head and didn't try to hold in the sneezes that momentarily cleared his stuffed sinuses. On the drive back, Sybil had to focus all of her remaining energy on her babbling eldest sister and was swept into the house and her waiting dinner before she could get a proper look at Branson.

Branson's dinner was waiting too, but he no longer had any appetite whatsoever and returned to his home instead. As he laid on his bed, curled up and shivering under his quilt, he prayed to God, Jesus, Mary, and every saint he could think of that he would be better in the morning. As he drifted into a fitful sleep, he knew that prayer was one that would not be answered.


	2. Chapter 2

If you, like my college roommate, are a courtesy puker… I'm sorry about this chapter. Also, I had a lot more planned that I wanted to get in here, but then I realized, if I keep going, it's going to be like a week before I can post this. So, this is still to be continued and with a few chapters more than I originally planned.

* * *

Tom had no idea what time it was when he first awoke in the dark, coughing. His throat felt dry and rough as sandpaper. Water. He needed water. He pushed himself up and stood before promptly crumbling back onto the bed as a wave of dizziness struck him.

Tom was glad no one saw him. His sweat-slick skin was making him shiver with cold on a summer's night he would usually deem warm. His limbs felt far too heavy and his head far too light. His sinuses felt over-crowded and his head pounded relentlessly. 'And now I'm coughing too.'

Tom rolled onto his side then waited for the next round of coughing to subside. He slowly sat up and pulled himself to his feet.

Tom shuffled to the little kitchen down the hall, holding onto walls and doorjambs along the way. He filled a glass with water and drank greedily before refilling and moving back to his bedroom, grabbing an extra quilt along the way.

Tom laid back in bed and gathered his blankets as close as he could for warmth. For what seemed like an eternity, Tom tried to drift to sleep, only to be woken by a sneeze or an ever worsening round of coughing. Two hours after Tom had returned to bed, he fell asleep, just as the first rays of sun touched the night sky.

.:.

Anna was very glad to escape the downstairs. Carson had been fuming for nearly three hours over Branson's absence that morning. Branson had not shown up at the servants' hall for breakfast nor had he arrived to do any of his indoor chores. 'There is far too much to be done,' the Butler had complained, 'for us to be employing lazy lay-abouts!' Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately for the chauffeur, Anna thought) there was simply no one to be spared to hunt down Branson and demand he get his work done.

As Anna moved toward Lady Sybil's room, she tried to calm her worries. Branson was young, strong, and she had never seen him take a day off for illness. 'He probably just has a touch of something,' Anna tried to convince herself 'I'm sure he'll be about this afternoon.' After all, Carson and a number of others were convinced that he was just avoiding the house to get out of extra work; he couldn't be all that bad if no one else had suspicions of his being sick. 'How is it that I was the only one who took any notice of him?' Anna wondered.

.:.

As much as she loved nursing, Sybil was glad for a bit of a lay-in that morning. It was her day off from the hospital and she was glad for the momentary quiet. Sybil got out of bed and stood by the window. The sun was higher than she expected it would be when she woke. A glance at her clock explained that it was nearly ten o'clock. Sybil rung for Anna then returned to the window. It would be hot today. "I'll have to see if anyone has the car now. Otherwise I'll have to wait until much later this afternoon to go into Ripon. Too hot for Branson to be cooking in that ridiculous livery while I run my errands," Sybil muttered to herself. Sybil tore herself away from the window and went in search of a skirt and shirt that _she_ wouldn't cook in during her outing.

"Good morning, Lady Sybil."

"Good morning, Anna. I think we'll need to pile my hair up today. It's too hot to let it down."

"So said both of your sisters this morning."

Sybil laughed. "Where are they hiding this morning?"

Anna smiled. "Lady Mary is in the library with all of the shades drawn. Lady Edith has been from room to room all morning complaining about the heat. She can't sit still it seems."

Sybil, now dressed sat in front of her vanity and Anna picked up the brush. "Do you know if Mama or Papa took the car out this morning? I'd like to go into Ripon."

Sybil, ever observant, caught the look that passed Anna's face. "No, milady, they haven't." She paused, contemplating what she wanted to say next. "I should mention, Lady Sybil, that Mr. Branson is, well, he's missing this morning."

"Missing? What do you mean?" Sybil asked in alarm, turning to face the maid.

"He hasn't been in yet to see to his chores, or to eat. Mr. Carson is displeased, but… I think Mr. Branson might be ill. He didn't seem himself yesterday and he never did come in for dinner last night."

Sybil's shoulders sagged, "Oh, I knew something wasn't right with him yesterday. I should have stopped him before I went in for the night." Sybil paused, her expression moving from worry back to fear. "But you said he's missing. He isn't in his cottage?"

"Mr. Carson hasn't been able to spare anyone to go check-"

"I'll go see to him then." Sybil said standing up and going in search of her shoes.

"Lady Sybil, no! It would be improper for you to go!" Anna began to panic. If Mr. Carson found out Lady Sybil had gone to Branson _alone_, and Anna had put the thought of his being ill in her head…

"I don't care a wink for propriety right now. He's sick and alone."

"But Lady Sybil, your father-"

"My father had better understand that I'm a nurse and I care far more for my patients' health than his stuffy ideals. I'm going." Sybil sat to put her shoes on then turned to finish putting her hair in a quick bun.

"Then I'm going with you." Anna said. Sybil shot Anna a disbelieving look then opened her mouth to speak, but Anna interrupted her. "No Lady Sybil. I'm going with you." Anna wanted to make sure Sybil's reputation wasn't ruined by her doing something rash, but she knew that the Lady couldn't care less. She said the only thing she knew would convince Sybil to let her go with her. "If Mr. Branson is really so ill, you may need help or someone to run back to the house. Would you leave him there alone again?"

Sybil seemed to struggle for a minute before replying, "no, I suppose you're right."

Anna was able to convince Sybil to take some breakfast while she returned her apron to her room. She also stopped into Mrs. Hughes' office (where she also found Mr. Carson) and informed them both of where she and Lady Sybil would be. Ten minutes later, Sybil met Anna and an insistent yet indignant Mr. Carson and started the walk toward the chauffeur's cottage.

.:.

Tom woke coughing so hard that he couldn't breathe. He pushed himself up in hopes it would help. His vision blurred from his light-headedness and the coughing stopped only to be replaced by the taste of acid rising in his throat. He couldn't stop it and he couldn't move. A second later, bile was sinking into Tom's sweat soaked shirt. To his own shame, Tom realized that the event had sapped away every last ounce of energy and he sunk back into the pillows. Tears pricked at his eyes. 'I'm too weak to even clean myself off. Someone will find me like this. Covered in my own sick.'

Tom had been a child the last time he was so ill. It was a hazy collection of half-memories now. His mother's worried face. His sister crying. His aunt telling his brothers that they should pray for him. The only clear memories he had of those horrible two weeks were the taste of bile and the burning in his lungs. The same burning that was starting now.

Tom's stomach began to turn again. He searched frantically for anything to catch his sick and saw the bucket he stored coal in during the winter just near the bed. He quickly grabbed at it and barely registered the load thuds the lumps made as the few remaining hit the wooden floor boards.

Tom hugged the bucket to his chest just as the bile reached the top of his throat.

.:.

Mr. Carson was determined that he should enter the cottage first and see that Mr. Branson was decent before Lady Sybil and Anna would be allowed to enter. Sybil was too worried to fight and simply gave in. However, as they neared the door, the group heard four loud thumps. Sybil ran past Carson and into the cottage without a second thought.

She was even more frantic when she heard the gagging sounds coming from down the hall and she followed them into Branson's bedroom.

Sybil was shocked by what she saw. Tom was sitting, hunched, with a bucket clutched to his chest. His face was pale and tear streaked. His eyes were red-rimmed and a bit sunken. Tom was wearing just his undershirt which was drenched and he was shivering.

In three quick steps Sybil was next to him. She put on hand on his head to find that he had a high temperature and used the other to rub soothing circles on his back as he got sick.

The sound of quick heavy footsteps and a sympathetic gasp alerted Sybil that Carson and Anna had found their way to the room.

"Anna, find the biggest bowl or pot you can and fill it with cold water. And I need cloths or towels. We need to cool him. His fever is too high. Carson, go back to the house and ring for Dr. Clarkson," Sybil ordered.

"Lady Sybil, to have two unmarried women in the home of a bachelor-"

"Heaven help me if you finish that sentence," Sybil spat, an edge to her voice. "I've determined that he's ill enough to warrant calling the doctor away from war-ravaged soldiers and you think he's going to compromise me." Branson started to retch again and Sybil's attention turned back to him. She tried her best to soothe him, rubbing his back and assuring him that he would be taken care of now.

Sybil sent a quick glance at the doorway to see that Carson was still hovering uncomfortable there. "Carson, go ring for Dr. Clarkson, _now_."

Alone now, Sybil looked at her companion. He still had the bucket wrapped tightly in his arms. His eyes were closed and his chin was tucked into his chest. His breathing, Sybil realized, was labored and was drawn in and expelled not through his nose, but through his parted lips.

"Oh Tom, I wish you had told me you were ill." Sybil instinctively pressed a light kiss to his hairline.

"Didn't want you to worry," he gasped out.

"We need to get your fever down," Sybil told him. "Let me have this." Sybil took the bucket away and placed it off to the side. She would clean it once she had him settled. "You'll be more comfortable with this off" she told him, indicating his shirt. She chose not to mention that the smell of sweat and bile was probably not helping to settle his stomach. Tom's head remained down and his shoulders caved in a bit more. He was embarrassed, Sybil realized.

Sybil sat down on the mattress and faced him. "Come on now, trust me. " She grabbed at the edge of his undershirt and felt him shiver as her knuckles glanced along the skin of his torso. She pulled the shirt over his head and away from his body and couldn't help but admire the pale skin that was revealed. 'Stop it,' she thought, discarding the shirt in the half full basket across the room. 'This is not the time.' This thought stopped her in her tracks, staring at the half naked man in bed. 'Do I want there to be a time though?' Sybil wasn't sure.

The hurried clacking of Anna's heels on the floorboards brought Sybil back to the task at hand. "This was the best I could find, Lady Sybil, but there is another pot the same size. I can fill that when the first is getting close to needing to be switched out." Anna sat a pot down, not terribly large, 'but he only ever needs to cook for himself, I suppose.'

"Thank you Anna." Sybil took the proffered stack of dish-drying rags.

"There weren't any towels in the bathroom and I didn't know where else he would keep them…" Anna offered with a sheepish smile. "That was the best I could find."

Sybil turned back to Tom who still sat shirtless, skin glistening with sweat, in the middle of the bed. "You should lie down."

"Can't," came his curt, gravelly reply. "Ribs." On cue, a fit of coughs began to wrack his body.

When they quieted, Sybil was next to Tom, her hand on his back again and holding his earlier glass of water. "Drink," she commanded and he complied. She handed the glass back to Anna after he had taken a few sips. "I'm going to help you lay back. Trust me and don't tense your muscles." Sybil sat on the bed and lightly pushed against Tom's chest with one hand while her other arm cradled his head and shoulders. A whine escaped Tom's lips. "Relax," she told him. "You'll only make it worse."

Once he was resting against the pillows, Sybil turned to the pot of water and the towels. "What can I do to help?" Anna asked as Sybil dropped a towel in to soak.

"Nothing at the moment." Sybil rung the first towel out and nearly dropped it in fright when Tom loudly sneezed then started coughing. With a groan he curled up onto his side, facing away from both women. "Come back here," Sybil lightly chastised. She put an open palm on his side and gently prodded him to roll back onto his back. Sybil folded the cloth she was holding carefully before placing it over his forehead and eyes. She added a second cloth behind his neck, trying to position his pillows so they would hold the cloth in place.

Sybil took the third towel from the water but did not ring it as dry as the first two. 'It's so hot outside and to have a fever too, he must be awfully uncomfortable.' With this in mind, Sybil dragged the cloth from one shoulder across his collarbone to the other, before moving methodically down his torso in the same fashion. Tom's breathing was evening out. 'Good,' Sybil thought, 'he needs the sleep.' She replaced the towels on his head and the back of his neck with fresh ones before pulling the sheet up to cover his body to his collarbone.

Sybil looked over at Anna who had retreated to stand in a corner of the room, red-faced, looking awkwardly away from the bed. "Watch him for a moment. I want to clean this bucket out for him."

"I can do that, Lady Sybil."

"No, Anna. He's close to sleep. Just stay for a minute. I'll be right down the hall."

.:.

Tom was asleep and remained so for the five minutes Sybil was gone, but Anna couldn't help feeling uncomfortable. She wasn't unnerved by Tom, his illness, or even his naked torso. She _was_ unnerved by the unmistakable love emanating from her young mistress and the obvious pleasure the young woman took in running the cloth over Tom's body. If anyone had seen what she just saw, Lady Sybil's family would have locked her away in a tower somewhere and Tom would be thrown from his cottage and job, ill or no.

What troubled Anna the most was that this was not a one-side affection, she was sure.

Sybil came back in with a chair and a cleaned bucket. "I thought you might like to sit while we wait for Dr. Clarkson." Anna was about to thank her but insist that she take the chair, but before she could open her mouth, Sybil had sat back on the bed stroking Tom's hair or shoulder in between check the cloths meant to cool him.

"My lady, be careful! If anyone sees-"

"No Anna. I can't care who sees. I can't care who finds out. Not when he is like this. Not when he needs me."

Anna gave a quiet nod. 'It's unwise, Lady Sybil, to let your guard down now, but the decision is yours and yours will be the consequences,' she thought, but stilled her tongue.


End file.
